‘Shall I take that?’ He relieved her of Brand’s gift and put it, along with the two small packages he was carrying, into the capacious pockets of his leather jacket.
As soon as they were settled in and underway, she found herself having to stifle a yawn. Wondering muzzily whether her tiredness was due to champagne or jet lag, she fought against the urge to sleep.
But it was a slow journey back to Denver Court and when Rafe, seeing her eyelids start to droop, gathered her close, all she could feel was relief.
Comfortable, safe, at home, she let go and drifted into oblivion, her head on his shoulder.
When they reached their destination and drove into the forecourt she awakened naturally and, sitting up, looked around her.
There was a light covering of snow and it was still falling, whirling past like handfuls of thrown confetti, obliterating the tyre tracks of vehicles almost as soon as they were made.
She felt refreshed by the sleep. All the previous muzziness had vanished, and her head was clear.
‘Feeling better now?’ Rafe asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘That’s good. Later we’re having dinner at the Starlight Room.’
When they had put on their coats and the bags and boxes had been retrieved, Rafe paid the driver, gave him a handsome tip and watched him sketch a salute as he drove away.
They crossed the foyer, with its Christmas tree and festive trimmings, and took the lift up to the penthouse. As it always had in the past, it made her nerves tighten and left her stomach behind.
When the doors slid open, juggling with the various packages, Rafe let them into his service flat and flicked on the lights.
With a little ache in her heart she realised that nothing had changed. It was the same as it had been when Rafe had brought her here more than a year ago, except that the patio and garden area now had a white coverlet.
Watching the snow falling softly, Madeleine found herself thinking back to how pleasant it had been the summer she had known it, how they had drunk red wine and made love in the sun. How happy they had been.
Knowing that was a dangerous path to go down, she tried to push away the memory, but it crowded in, swamping her, overwhelming her.
Once again she could feel his beloved weight and the warmth of the sun on her face, smell his aftershave and the patio roses, taste the smooth dry wine on her tongue and the sweetness of his kisses…
‘Penny for your thoughts.’
‘What?’
As she turned away from the window, he said, ‘You were miles away. Your face was soft and absorbed, and waiting, as though in your mind you were being made love to.’
Watching the hot colour pour into her cheeks, he said, ‘It looks as though I hit the nail on the head. So who was it? Me?’
When she bit her lip and stayed silent, he shrugged. ‘So long as it’s turned you on, it doesn’t really matter who it was.’
He carried the Harrod’s packages through to the guest bedroom and dropped them onto a chaise longue covered in peach-coloured velvet, before helping her off with her coat.
At that moment the phone in the living room rang.
‘If you’ll excuse me, this might be the call I’ve been waiting for.’ He went out, closing the door behind him.
Fiona? Madeleine wondered.
She was glad there wasn’t a bedside phone. Had there been, she might have felt tempted to eavesdrop. But Rafe refused to have phones in the bedrooms on the grounds that, whether he was sleeping or making love, he didn’t want to be disturbed.
Recalling what he’d said about having dinner at the Starlight Room, and realising she would need to get organised, she began to unpack the Harrod’s parcels.
First of all the various toiletries, which she put into a toilet bag patterned with silvery-blue dolphins. Then, with a little quiver of excitement, she took out the evening dress Rafe had selected, and draped it over one of the button-backed chairs.
A simple ankle-length sheath with a modest neckline it was—on the surface—the kind of thing she might have chosen for herself. What made it totally different, apart from the designer label, was the superb cut, the colour and the material.
It was a clear, light gold—a colour she wouldn’t normally have dreamt of buying—and it was made of silk chiffon.
As she had started to shake her head, the saleslady had said, ‘It would look beautiful on, and madam certainly has the figure for it.’
‘Try it,’ Rafe had urged.
Soft and insubstantial as gossamer, it had slipped over her head and settled into place, a silken caress that clung lovingly to every curve.
The sight of herself in the full-length mirror had kept her momentarily rooted to the spot. She had never imagined she could look like this.
When, her knees feeling weak, she emerged from the fitting room, after one long look Rafe had said simply, ‘Yes, we’ll take it.’
As soon as a matching wrap and evening bag, strappy sandals and silk stockings had been purchased, he nodded his satisfaction. ‘That’s the most important part done. Now the lingerie department…’
The ivory silk undies, delicate as a spider’s web, would have been any woman’s dream, as would the dainty satin and lace nightdress and negligee he had picked out.
She had always bought pretty, feminine lingerie because it boosted her morale, but she had never aspired to anything in that class, and the thought of wearing such beautiful things had caused a shivery sensation to run up and down her spine.
Now looking down at them, she felt that same shiver of anticipation.
But she mustn’t feel like this, she warned herself sharply. She mustn’t allow herself to be lulled into meekly accepting what he wanted to give. She mustn’t let herself enjoy the things he was almost forcing on her, perhaps just to salve his conscience.
If he had a conscience.
But after the way he had treated Fiona she couldn’t believe he had.
Looking down at the ring on her finger, she wondered, not for the first time, how she could keep on loving a man like Rafe. A man who could treat one woman so badly, and coerce another into wearing his ring for ‘the look of the thing’ and for just as long as it suited him.
If he’d loved her it would have been different. Even if he hadn’t intended to marry her it wouldn’t have mattered. If he’d loved her, she could somehow have lived with that.
But he didn’t love her. He might want her, but he didn’t love her.
She must remember that and not weaken.
And if she stayed, she would weaken. So somehow she must find the will to leave him, and soon.
If she went back to Hethersage she would be trapped there, so it had to be tonight.
Judging by what he’d said in the taxi, he was confident that she would stay. So his guard would be down. With a bit of luck she could be in a cab and away before he missed her. Surely either Eve or Noel would be there to pay the fare. But if the worst came to the worst and they were both out, she would find some way of coping.
Feeling the need for action now she had made up her mind, she decided to shower and start to get ready. Removing the ring and the small gold hoops from her ears, she put them on the bedside cabinet and took the pins from her hair. There was still no sign of Rafe as she gathered up the toilet bag and the negligee and headed for the en suite bathroom.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN she emerged some fifteen minutes later, fresh and perfumed, the negligee whispering around her, her long hair a gleaming cloud around her shoulders, he was lounging on the chaise longue.
Stretching out a lazy hand, he pulled her down beside him in a proprietary manner, and nuzzled his face against the side of her neck. ‘You smell delightful.’
Her heart starting to beat faster, she sat stiff and still, telling herself she mustn’t weaken. If he was at all ruffled by her lack of response, he didn’t show it.
Indicating the four small packages assembled by his side, he said, ‘There’s plenty of time to op
en your birthday presents before we need to get ready.’
Selecting the nearest, he handed it to her.
The gift was the one Carl Brand had given her and, stripping off the paper, she found a silver filigree case that opened to disclose a pale, padded lining with a dozen slots to hold rings. It was obviously an expensive item, and she realised that to give her something so valuable he must regard Rafe as an extremely good customer.
The second gift was a handmade card and a bottle of perfume from Katie. Absurdly touched that, as well as going to so much trouble over the card, the little girl had remembered that Janvier was her favourite perfume, Madeleine had to bite her lip.
Diane’s gift was matching soap and bath oil.
‘How did they know it was my birthday?’
‘Apparently Katie once asked you when it was, and she’d remembered. That was one of the reasons she wanted to see you.’ Rafe smiled at her. ‘But when I told her I was planning to take you into town to buy your present, and that I had wanted it to be a surprise, she and Diane agreed not to say anything over lunch.’
He picked up the final package and, handing it to her, said, ‘Happy birthday.’
The wrapping off, she saw it was the midnight-blue case with Marshall Brand in gold on the lid.
As, a tightness in her chest, she sat staring down at it, he asked, ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
When her fingers, so sure at most times, fumbled ineffectually, he took it from her and used his thumbnail to flick open the lid.
Madeleine caught her breath involuntarily.
Lying on the velvet lining was a beautiful gold necklace set with six sparkling aquamarines. Alongside it were matching drop earrings that were equally lovely.
Watching her as she sat staring at the exquisite set in stunned silence, Rafe suggested crisply, ‘Suppose you try them on?’
Her fingers far from steady, she fastened the earrings to her delicate lobes.
Head tilted a little to one side, he studied her. ‘Perfect. Now for the necklace…’
As she made to pick it up, he said, ‘No, let me.’ Taking it from the case, he moved behind her and, having fastened it around her slender neck, bent to touch his lips to her nape.
She was still quivering from that caress when he turned her so that he could look at her.
‘Yes… Though for the best effect they should be displayed against the skin.’
He brushed aside the ivory satin of the negligee.
The necklace felt smooth and cool against the warmth of her flesh, and through the dressing-table mirror she could see that the aquamarines were exactly the same colour as her eyes.
Remembering Rafe’s comment, just for an instant she was overcome by emotion.
He saw that emotion and, misinterpreting it, said coldly, ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that in spite of the ring, you feel like a kept woman.’
Angry that she’d weakened, she retorted, ‘How else would you expect me to feel?’
He got up, his jaw tight. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I may as well have my money’s worth.’
His hands beneath her elbows, he lifted her to her feet and, unfastening the belt of her negligee, slipped it from her shoulders. As it fell in a satin puddle at her feet he swept her up in his arms, carried her to the king-sized bed and laid her down.
Then quickly, but with no appearance of haste, he discarded his clothes and, like some sultan, stood looking down at her.
She was beautiful, with a slender body, long, balletic limbs and subtle curves.
But she was more than merely beautiful. A great deal more.
That warm, generous mouth and those thickly lashed almond eyes made her a fascinating combination of wholesome girl-next-door and the exotic.
Her long blonde hair spreading over the pillow, and the blue-green aquamarines sparkling and glittering like a sunlit tropical sea against her creamy, flawless skin, added to that exoticism.
Slowly he ran a single finger from her throat to her navel, and back again.
Her heart thudding against her ribs, she stared up at him, her wide eyes fixed on his face.
Holding her gaze, he traced the curve of her breast and heard her breathing quicken as he circled the velvety nipple.
Knowing it would be useless, she made no attempt to fight him, but neither would she yield, she thought fiercely.
As though he could read her mood, he smiled a little grimly. When he moved to join her on the bed, she stiffened involuntarily. He might be aroused enough to just take her.
Perhaps, for one angry moment, he had intended to simply take, to impose his will, but it wasn’t in his nature to force any woman.
Stretching out beside her, he touched his lips to hers in a slow, unhurried kiss, as though he was quite happy to spend the rest of the evening doing nothing else.
When her lips quivered and parted beneath his, he let his hands move over her, touching her as though she was some priceless treasure, more precious than the aquamarines she was wearing.
The caring, the tenderness, wrapped streamers of warmth around her heart and melted her resistance as easily as the heat from a candle flame melted wax.
His mouth followed his hands, leisurely, caressingly, finding the most sensitive areas. When he reached the soft skin of her inner thigh and began to flick with his tongue, she shuddered and made a little sound in her throat.
Softly, he murmured, ‘Just lie there and enjoy what I’m going to do to you.’
Already on fire with need, she couldn’t have done any other. He could feel her surrender to the sensations, surrender to him, as he teased and probed, building up the heat until pleasure exploded inside her and, her back arching, she clutched at the sheet she was lying on.
Still he didn’t stop. Making the need build again and again. Satisfying it again and again. Every time she knew there could be no more, there was more. When she finally felt his weight, she thought dazedly that she had nothing left to give, nothing left to gain.
But he proved her wrong.
Then common sense kicked in. Once again she had given in to him, allowed herself to be seduced, manipulated, when she should have been strong.
He might have seemed tender, caring, but it had merely been a show, and, while she couldn’t deny how much pleasure he had given her, it had solved nothing. Altered nothing.
As though her thoughts had disturbed him, he stirred and lifted himself away. Then, sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned over to kiss her lightly.
‘It’s about time we were moving.’
As she raised her hands, intending to take off the earrings and necklace, he stopped her. ‘I want you to wear them…’ Though he spoke softly, there was a steely edge to his tone.
He reached for the ring and, his expression precluding any argument, slipped it back on her finger. ‘And your ring.’
Realising it was useless to argue, she agreed, ‘Very well.’
She could get either Eve or Noel to return the jewellery and her unwanted finery to Rafe, and pick up her own things.
Watching him pad barefoot to the other bathroom, she thought, not for the first time, what a magnificent male animal he was. The lean hips and waist, the broad shoulders and elegant line of his spine, could have belonged to a Michelangelo statue. While his carriage, the way he held his head, spoke of a natural self-confidence, an innate authority.
Yet, if Diane was correct, he could so well have ended up weak and psychologically damaged. But while he appeared to be neither, he had no scruples about the way he treated women, Madeleine thought as she set about getting ready for the evening. But was that because, having been rejected by his mother, he was getting his own back on females in general?
That might explain his cruelty to Fiona. But it didn’t necessarily excuse it.
She had just finished putting the finishing touches to her make-up when Rafe reappeared wearing an immaculate dinner jacket, his seal-dark hair neatly brushed, his jaw freshly shaven.
Feeling, as always, the pull of his magnetism, she thought how devastatingly handsome he looked in evening clothes, and just how much she loved him.
Her breathing constricted, she wished she didn’t have to leave him, wished that things could have been different, even while she knew how hopeless such a wish was.
Standing stock still, his head tilted a little to one side, he looked her over from head to toe, taking in the clinging dress with its matching gold sandals, the greeny-blue gems glittering at her ears and throat, the elegant knot of hair and the discreet touch of make-up.
Unnerved by the sheer intensity of his gaze, she asked awkwardly, ‘Do I look all right?’
He smiled, the lopsided smile that never failed to touch her heart, and, lifting her hand to his lips, said huskily, ‘My love, you look enchanting.’
Shaken to the core by the endearment, she was still standing motionless when he picked up her wrap and put it around her shoulders. ‘As we won’t be leaving the building, that’s all you’ll need.’
For what lay in store she could have done with a coat, but, unable to argue, she collected her small, gold evening bag and, on legs that felt unsteady, accompanied him out of the apartment.
As they went through an archway at the far end of the hall-way and made their way along a series of marble galleries, she forced herself to think, to try and form a plan of escape.
Would it make sense to come back the same way? Or would it be quicker to find another exit on the other side of the building?
As she was unsure where the exits were, or how easy it would be to get a taxi at any of them, it might be safer to stick with what she knew.
But it could take longer. Which would give Rafe a better chance of catching her up. For she was sure that when he missed her, he would come after her.
Though as soon as she was in a taxi and underway, she would be relatively safe. Of course, he would know only too well where she was heading, but once she got to Eve’s she would be home and dry.
Then, somehow, she would put the last few days out of her mind and start to live the rest of her life. A life in which Rafe played no part.
She took a quick, ragged breath as the thought of never seeing him again cut into her heart like a knife. But it was the best way.
Love Without Lies Page 14